


There's No Rush

by GalaxyGazing



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGazing/pseuds/GalaxyGazing
Summary: Albert only went to Finch when he was desperate





	1. Desperate

 

 

The nice thing about being a newsie in Jack’s dingy penthouse was that it meant you were never more than a proposition away from a friendly touch, if that’s what you wanted.

Albert wasn’t sure how long ago it started, only that it had been long established by the time he was taken in. With the whole occupancy on board with the idea of mutually beneficial relationships, it hardly mattered to anyone that your partner would always be male. Whatever your gender preference, this was more of a physical thing only.

First and foremost, if you were skittish about it whatsoever you didn’t have to participate. Or, you could write off your actions as, how did Jack put it? Getting your focus back. When you weren’t wound up all the time over whatever your fancy was, it was a nice way to relax and clear your head. More focus out on the street made you better at selling papes, you could tell yourself.

But no one who’d lived there more than a month had any reservations about it and the rules were simple: Pay two cents, or return the favor.

And as Albert dug into his pockets and found that his last two cents had been spent on food, now was not the most convenient time to be this...frustrated.

Honestly, Albert never minded returning the favor, and it was actually his preferred form of payment when he could find a willing participant. He liked to reciprocate immediately, without anyone lording a debt over his head, and that’s what most boys wanted anyway.

But at this late hour when all the others were already in bed, sleep was just as precious a commodity and Albert had missed his window to ask. The only one still awake was Finch, who had gotten in late, and Albert almost kicked himself for what he was about to ask him.

Finch was never his first choice.

See, the good thing about Finch was that he never turned you down. Unlike the other newsies who could sometimes grumble that they were too tired or demand payment upfront, Finch would always agree as long as you made good on your word later. And while other newsies would rush to get it over with, Finch, well, that was the trouble.

Finch liked to string you out until you almost wished you hadn’t asked him in the first place. He liked to take his time, make you actually writhe for it. That’s why Albert only went to him when he was desperate.

So when Albert stood, back pressed to the kitchen wall, Finch on his knees before him, he thought it couldn’t hurt to ask nicely.

“Please, Finch…please. I’m too wound up for teasin’.”

“No one’s too wound up for teasin’,” Finch noted quietly, swirling his tongue once around the head of Albert’s leaking erection before giving the tip a light kiss.

It had already been five minutes of this and Albert promised himself he wouldn’t let Finch see his legs shake. It was so good but not nearly enough and Albert was aching.

“ _I_ am. It’s been a month. I just need…”

“Need what?” Finch asked lowly, flicking his tongue over places that lit Albert’s whole body up.

“Need a little more,” Albert sighed, pushing his fingers into Finch’s hair, making his Gatsby hat fall to the floor.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, please, no more teasin’.”

It was all Albert could do to keep from gripping Finch just a little tighter and feeding his length down his throat. He bet Finch could take it too, but that wasn’t how things worked. You had to do things on his terms.

“Fine, you gotta tell me what you wants, though. You know I forgets sometimes.”

That beautiful, coy, infuriating smile let Albert know he wasn’t going to be let off that easily. In exchange for more action Finch wanted to hear him beg, humiliate him just a little, in his classic fashion. But Albert was too far gone and Finch’s hot little licks were enough to make him swallow his pride in one gulp.

“I want your mouth. The way you throat me down. Please, Finch—”

Albert literally choked on his own voice when Finch hummed contentedly and wrapped his lips around him, swallowing him (albeit slowly) almost to the base in one go.

“Aah, _Fuck_ ,” the redhead hissed, startled by the sudden heat and how smoothly Finch took him. If he wanted things to continue this well, he knew he had to keep going.

“You’re good at this. And you know that, don’t you? S’why you like to give me the runaround,” Albert reflexively knocked his head back against the wall when Finch pulled off just enough to tongue at the underside of the head, doing all the little tricks the other newsies didn’t know how to do.

As annoyed as Albert was with him, the compliment was genuine. Finch was good enough at this to make Albert want to go to him exclusively, if he didn’t make him jump through so many goddamned, embarrassing hoops.

“Yeah, ugh, a little faster.”

Finch complied and when Albert lifted his hips from the wall, Finch pushed back on them, holding him there, keeping him from participating beyond what he was allowed.

Albert let his eyes fall closed, breathing through an open mouth and stifling his voice just below the volume that would wake up any of the others. He let himself enjoy just how far Finch could get him down and how good his tongue felt flattened up against the underside of him.

It wasn’t until he fell silent for too long and Finch pulled off to kiss delicately at the tip again did Albert realize he’d stopped giving commands.

“Ngh, K-eep going,” Albert whined, brokenly.

“That’s vague,” Finch mused, “Tell me what you want.”

“Jesus, you gotta make me say it?” Albert practically sobbed, fingers a little too tight in Finch’s hair. He was so close.

“I do, I really do,” Finch smiled sweetly, lovingly. He adored seeing Albert like this, all taken apart and trembling. That was probably all the payment he needed. Forget the two cents, forget returning the favor.

“I wanna fuck your mouth till I’m spent,” Albert gasped, functioning entirely on desire, “Wanna cum down your throat, wanna hear you swallow it. Fuck, Finch, _please!_ ”

“Good,” was all Finch said before giving Albert exactly what he’d asked so nicely for.

The stimulating combination of heat, wetness, and a skillfulness that he could only wonder where Finch learned was Albert's complete undoing. He met his orgasm with incredible force, trembling through the best of it and feeling Finch slam his hips back down against the wall when he tried to buck. He wanted for nothing as Finch took care of him, guzzling him down professionally, swallowing effortlessly, and soothing him through every aftershock.

When Finch finally pulled off, he licked the too-sensitive slit once more just to see Albert twitch before sitting back on his knees with a very satisfied look.

“You should come to me more often.”

Albert caught his breath just enough to reply, “You’re too much work, Finch,” despite that being the best orgasm he ever had.

Finch snorted, smiling lopsidedly, “So you’d prefer a true expert, like Mush. Or Romeo.” A clear jab at the worst fellaters in the penthouse.

“I dunno, Romeo doesn’t talk so much.”

When Finch stood, Albert almost forgot that he was taller than him for a second and was startled as Finch surveyed him with a smile and crossed arms.

Albert looked away, still feeling alarmingly warm, “Well…you gonna let me do my part of the deal?”

“Later. I’ll find you when I need you.”

“You can’t even make things easy on that front, can you? Gonna hold this over my head?”

Before Albert could even react, Finch leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“I give you a hard time because I like you, Al. Don’t wanna rush things when I’m with you. Ask the other boys if I spend nearly the same amount of time with them.”

When Finch pulled away, Albert was too stunned to even form a reply and blushing too hard for Finch to ever let him live it down.

“Think about seeing me more, okay?”

Albert waited around in the kitchen until he knew Finch was in his bunk.

And thought, maybe, yeah, he might.

 

 


	2. After The Scuffle

 

 

It had been two weeks and Albert was getting anxious. Finch still hadn’t called upon him to make good on their deal and there was nothing that Albert hated more than feeling like he owed anyone anything.

And too many times had he thought about taking him up on his offer to see him more often, but he always panicked at the last second because wouldn’t Finch just be _so smug_ about that. Instead, he traded deals with Elmer or Specs or whoever else was feeling tight.

But that didn’t stop Albert from noticing when Finch sat closer to him at mealtimes, or when their arms brushed in the narrow hallways. He chided himself for stealing glances at Finch when he got dressed in the morning and hated how something scorching coiled in his stomach when he saw him slip away with another newsie.

Silently, Albert mourned the moments he used to share with Racetrack who, goddamn, was the best in the house but backed out of the community when he started dating Spot. It used to be so easy with him. And fun. Now, the closest thing he had to being truly satisfied was a cocky, slingshot-wielding tease.

But right now, fun was the last thing on everyone’s minds as they retreated back to the penthouse, scraped and bruised after the cops swooped in on them for striking. Katherine had cheered them up a bit with her front page news but when everything calmed down the boys were incredibly tired and in very low spirits. Today, they’d lost Crutchie and Jack was nowhere to be found.

Albert had personally suffered a rather impressive gash on his left arm just above the elbow. A tightly wrapped rag had stopped the bleeding for now, but it still smarted.

A little dazed and extremely exhausted, everyone slowly filed into the bunkroom to end a rather horrid day in hopes that tomorrow would be better. Albert tailed the line until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Finch gave him one serious look and Albert knew to follow him into the kitchen again, the farthest room from the bunks.

“Can I help you?” Albert questioned, lowly.

“How’s your arm?” Finch asked, motioning to the now slightly pink bandage.

“S’fine,” Albert answered, swallowing hard. He couldn’t really pinpoint the source of his annoyance with him other than the fact that Finch had rudely occupied most of his thoughts for the past two weeks which, of course, wasn’t his fault.

A beat of silence passed where Albert was utterly perplexed by the uncharacteristically mournful look on Finch’s face.

“What do you want, Finch?”

“I wanna give.”

Albert’s stomach flip-flopped and he looked towards the entryway to make sure all the others truly were in bed. That was not the answer he was expecting and he tried to quell the fire in his belly which reacted to that.

“What? No. You gave last time. I still owe you.”

“This is how I wanna be repaid. Let me do this and we’ll be even.”

Out of all the propositions Albert had received or made, none of them ever went quite like this. It was always an eye for an eye. Finch was too unpredictable and his motives were unclear. Things weren’t supposed to be this complicated.

Finch waited two weeks and then suddenly took an interest in him again at arguably the least respectful time. Their crew was in shambles and two of their friends were missing. With a clear edge to his voice Albert growled, “After the day we had?”

“ _Because_ of the day we had,” and Finch said those words so tenderly that it was almost startling. Albert shook his head.

“No, I’ve learned my lesson with you. You frustrate me more than doin’ any good.”

“No teasin’ tonight.”

“Sure.”

“I promise.”

Albert scoffed in doubt, “Why the change’a heart?”

“Because I saw you hurt today,” Finch said a little too quickly, “…and I never wanna see that again.”

Albert’s heart sped three times its pace and he felt the heat rush to his face. His eyes searched over Finch’s expression, mind racing, breathing slightly audible. Finch lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Scared me half to fucking death, Albert.”

When Finch moved it was so slowly that Albert had countless chances to push him away, but as he cupped Albert’s face between both of his hands and looked at him like he really _mattered_ , Albert found that he only wanted him to keep going.

The kiss was slow and delicate and Albert knew he probably couldn’t be very good at it because he’d never kissed anyone before. Closeness in the penthouse started and stopped with sexual gratification. Anything else was too…intimate.

But as Finch parted his lips Albert did the same because that seemed right, and he made a small noise when Finch tasted into him, moving like they had all the time in the world. Albert didn’t know what to do with his hands and left them at his sides while Finch used his own to thumb over his cheek, light and ticklish.

Just before Albert felt bold enough to try anything more with his tongue, Finch pulled away from him, removing his hands and taking a step backward.

“Thought maybe I could do something nice for you. So you’d forget yer arm for a bit. But yer right, maybe this isn’t the time—“

“Fuck, Finch, c’mere,” Albert breathed raggedly before reaching out to wrap his arms around Finch’s shoulders. Desperately, he pulled him forward, closing the space between them into another kiss.

Albert wanted to apologize for his lack of experience, the teeth clacking and awkward tilt of his head, but Finch simply eased the both of them back into a rhythm, lining them up nicely and kissing Albert a little deeper.

It was new and terrifying and Albert still wasn’t sure how he felt about the guy, but the way Finch had looked at Albert made him feel cared for in a way he never had been. It was nice, and the kissing was very nice, and Albert was willingly drowning in it.

When they gently broke for air their foreheads were pressed and Albert was still unknowingly holding tight to Finch around his neck.

“What can I do for you?” Finch breathed, hardly using any voice. His breath was hot and Albert physically shivered.

“Are you…?” Albert asked, looking downward between them.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” Albert kissed him once again as he untangled his arms from the embrace and got to work unbuttoning his own fly, “Let’s just—”

Finch seemed to understand and undid his own trousers, pushing their hips together, pinning Albert to the wall in a way that the redhead decided he really liked.

The feeling of Finch taking them both in his hand was unbelievably good, and with just enough slickness from a bit of saliva and precum the pace was set and Albert was panting into Finch’s mouth.

“This okay?”

“Don’t stop.”

And for once, Finch didn’t tease him or coax him to elaborate, just kissed him through every tremor and every whine and gratified him instantly.

Albert could tell Finch was close when he started to rut against his hips, thrusting in short little jerks, breaking from their kisses to shut his eyes tight and suck in air through clenched teeth. Albert was sure he was doing the same and when Finch sped his pace and moved his kisses in the crook of Albert’s neck, they were both lost to it.

White popped behind Albert’s eyelids and it wasn’t until he came down from the height of it did he realize that his fists were clenching Finch’s vest. Carefully, he released him so they could separate.

And Albert could have said a million things.

Asked a million questions.

But the one he stubbornly chose was, “...Are we even?”

“Yeah,” Finch said quietly, “We’re even.”

 

 


	3. Do You Know What You Want

 

 

Albert was becoming increasingly less alright with the silences in between his and Finch’s meetings. But what made this past week even more unbearable than the last was the fact that Finch had seemingly ceased his little arm brushes with him in the hall. And sitting closer to him at dinner. And everything else, really.

And Albert told himself that was just fine, they owed each other nothing, anyway. But the way Finch had kissed him in the kitchen that night, and let him know just how scared he was for his safety, the following silence was confusing to say the least. Briefly, he retraced his mental steps to figure out if it was something he had done. The last thing he’d asked Finch was if his debt to him was repaid. Finch had said yes, and then said nothing.

Just as Albert had almost finished re-teaching himself to hate the guy, Jack had called all the newsies into the communal space for some kind of inspiring meeting on the topic of the strike. The boys all watched his speech with revering eyes that held a renewed hope. But Albert couldn’t help but notice that Finch had sat on the old, ratty arm chair with his legs crossed and one arm thrown over the back of it. And for a second, Albert wanted to settle in next to him.

However, Jo Jo got there first.

And he didn’t just sit next to Finch, he sat hip to hip with him, nestling into the space Finch’s arm left open, casually inserting himself into an embrace of sorts. Finch looked at him in acknowledgement and smiled before they both turned their attention back to Jack. It was a simple gesture that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. Newsies draped themselves over each other all the time. Hell, Specs was sitting with his feet in Button’s lap.

But damnit if it didn’t make Albert’s stomach twist something terrible.

So, after the meeting, when everyone filed into the bunkroom for the night, Albert tugged on Finch’s vest and jerked his head towards the kitchen. He willed his voice to sound much less shaken than he was actually feeling.

“You okay?” Finch asked, so gentle and genuine that Albert wanted to punch him.

“I decided we’re _not_ even,” Albert murmured, words thick in his throat.

Finch raised his eyebrows, blinking twice before asking, “How d’you figure that?”

“Because I owed _you_ last time. But I still got off and you kinda…took the reins on that one,” Albert flicked his eyes to the floor for a moment before raising them to meet Finch’s with a particular kind of fire, “…I wanna give back.”

Albert expected Finch to give him that infuriating grin he was (for some reason) craving to see—watch him get a little smug and tease Albert for not being able to stay away from him. But instead Finch’s expression fell from a brief surprise to a sorrowful sheepishness.

“I’m sorry, Al. I promised I’d trade with Jo Jo tonight.”

And all Albert could manage as a response to that was, “Oh.”

Oh. Of course. Albert suddenly felt a heat rise to his face from what was likely embarrassment, if he could admit that to himself. Of course, Finch was free to fool around with as many newsies as he liked. So was Albert for that matter. But his mind dropped blank and no more words came to him so Finch continued,

“If I’da known…”

“Yeah,” Albert caught himself looking off towards the hallway, anywhere to avoid Finch’s eyes. He didn’t mean for the next words to sound so bitter, but they were, “Seems like you’ve been spending a lot of time with Jo Jo lately.”

Finch cocked his head, “No more than any of the other newsies,” he gave a small pause before admitting, “even the ones I’d like to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Albert spat, careful not to raise his voice too loudly. The best thing he could think to do with embarrassment was turn it to rage and Finch was not only the source of it all but the perfect target.

Angrily, Albert elaborated, “You make me think I’m special and then it’s…back to normal. We both see other newsies and don’t talk for weeks. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Finally, Finch seemed to grasp what was going on. Seeing Albert’s emotions so heightened, he tried his best to proceed carefully and honestly.

“All cards on the table, Al. I like you,” Finch’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost vulnerable, like he was the one afraid of being hurt at the end of this. “But after last time, the way we left things…sounded to me like you wanted to keep things the way they are.”

Albert swallowed hard and crossed his arms, still unable to make eye contact. But hearing Finch outright admit his feelings for him made his heart beat like a goddamn race horse’s.

Finch sighed, “I didn’t want to push you for something you don’t want. You’d like to keep things on a credit system and I have to be fine with that.”

“I never said that.”

“You never said otherwise, neither.”

Albert hated feeling small and hated when Finch was right. But in the immediate, what he hated the most was the thought of Finch leaving the kitchen and stealing Jo Jo away to some part of the penthouse tonight, giving him everything he would ask nicely for and then some. Because of this, Albert just barely managed to say his next words without his voice cracking.

“Well how do things go if I change my mind?...You stay with me tonight?”

Finch’s eyes went completely wide at that.

“You…You want to be exclusive?”

With all of the newsies at your luxury, there was never a reason for anyone to ever go exclusive unless you really had something good going. Like Race with Spot. It was a rather serious gesture. It meant you both had something more than sex, no, _better_ than sex, that you could only find with each other. It meant giving up variety for the only one you really wanted. The only one you’d ever want.

And the gravity of that question made Albert’s poor, lovesick heart panic once again.

“I don’t know.”

The look on Finch’s face made Albert almost regret his answer. He didn’t pull Finch aside tonight to hurt him, even though that’s what it was looking like real fast.

“I’m sorry, Al. I can’t give my whole self to you when you don’t know if you want me.”

The silence that passed between them was probably only a few seconds but it felt so much longer when Albert couldn’t breathe.

“Alright…well…Jo Jo’s waitin’ for me. We can meet up tomorrow, if you still want to.”

“Finch,” Albert managed, voice definitely cracking this time. Without even thinking, he’d reached out to grab Finch’s wrist as he turned away from him and now, holding him tight and definitely trembling, he truly did owe him an explanation.

Whatever dam was holding back his confessions absolutely splintered and the next words fell from him without even a conscious thought, “Alls I know is I’m not happy that you’re seein’ Jo Jo tonight and it’s making me feel like a fucking _idiot_ so could you please just kiss me or something—“

Albert choked on the last word so it came out in a dry, strangled sob. It was pathetic, he knew, but Finch just looked at him like he did that night: eyes full of adoration and a little bit of sadness, but most of all a tenderness that he’d never known from anywhere else.

Slowly, Finch cupped his face between his hands and fit their lips so nicely together. Finch always had a habit of moving at half the speed that Albert’s raging hormones would have liked him to, but right now Albert was grateful for getting anything at all and melted into the sensation of their lips sliding together.

Even though Jo Jo was probably drumming his fingers, Finch didn’t rush. He just continued doing what he always did for Albert—he made him feel like he had all the time in the world for him, and his whole world _was_ him.

Albert tried to deepen the kiss even in his inexperience with such and Finch let him, parting his lips and making the redhead dizzy and hot and drunk on something that wasn’t liquor. And even knowing that he’d greedily stolen at least ten minutes of Jo Jo’s night from him, Albert still whimpered in protest when Finch gently pulled away.

“Fuck,” Albert hissed to himself, scrubbing away a tear that just escaped him. He hoped that Finch hadn’t noticed, but of course he did and he reached out to thumb over the spot where it ran.

“You’re not an idiot. You know that I want you. We can discuss what you wants to do about that tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Albert stared at the door frame that he left through for a small eternity, willing his heart to slow down.

 

 


	4. Proposition

 

 

If Albert didn’t sell as many papes as he usually did the next day, it was undoubtedly because his mind was occupied with a more pressing matter. Finch said they could meet up today, if he wanted, but Albert knew that meant he needed a sure answer for him by the evening.

His stomach felt sick when he remembered how Finch had looked so hopeful at the thought of them being exclusive, and then so very crestfallen when Albert admitted he wasn’t ready. And 24 hours wasn’t about to change anything, which made him feel even worse.

Still, the day went by too fast for his liking and soon the newsies were off to bed. A glance across the room from Finch and a quick nod from Albert was all it took to get them right back to where they left off, hushing their voices in the kitchen for just a _chance_ at something great.

But Finch didn’t advance and they simply stood separately from each other while Albert worked up the nerve to speak his peace.

“I’m sorry about last night,” He confessed, mustering raw courage and whatever strength he could feign because he owed Finch that much, at least, “The truth of the matter is…you got me all kinda confused.”

Honesty wasn’t easy, especially when it put him at Finch’s mercy, but Albert had begged the guy to kiss him when Finch had every right to leave him high and dry, tell him to wait in line. And yet, he didn’t. Albert tried to remember that to steady his next words.

“And you’re right, if I don’t know hows I feel, I ain’t got any right to ask you to…stay with me. You can’t be waitin’ around on someone who can’t commit.”

Finch still hadn’t said anything yet, but he was listening to him neutrally, patiently. Albert swallowed through the dryness in this throat and pressed on because, hell, if he was spilling his guts here he might as well go all the way. Especially when half of the things he thought were secrets weren’t anymore.

“But…I’m startin’ to like you, Finch. I ain’t never been jealous of no one before, but…when you left for Jo Jo that night, it fuckin’ hurt. And I think it’s cuz, I dunno, you make me feel like I’m worth something.”

“Albert,” Finch started, gently.

“And until I can figure this out, we should probably keep things the way they are.”

Finch closed his mouth once again, nodding through a brief silence before whispering, “Alright.”

“That said—” Albert continued, feeling that familiar jitteriness return to his stomach, “I have a proposition for you.”

Finch raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in genuine interest, “I’m listening.”

Albert took a deep breath.

“I wanna book you for a month.”

It was almost comforting to see a grin split wide over Finch’s face. He huffed an almost-laugh, crossing his arms and staring at Albert questioningly, “ _Book_ me?”

“Yeah, you know… _schedule_. Like you promised the night to Jo Jo ahead of time,” Albert elaborated, blush rising to his cheeks but not enough to make him too embarrassed just yet, “I wanna do that with you, but like…this whole month you’re mine. And I’m yours. If other newsies ask us to fool around we says we already got a partner for the night.”

Scheduling more than a few hours before wasn’t a thing. Let alone keeping someone to yourself for a month. But it didn’t go against any house rules and Albert figured the least he could do was ask. However, it appeared that Finch was more concerned with the specifics than the proposition itself.

“A partner? Or do you care if I tell them that I’m seeing you? If other newsies get curious are we telling them about our deal?”

“You can say it’s me, I don’t care. I just wanna try this,” Albert said, the second half of his statement decrescendoing to a much more delicate volume, “Might help me figure things out if I spend more time with you.”

At this point Albert had lowered his eyes to the ground because, if Finch was gonna tell him to fuck off, it would hurt much less to hear it that way rather than to have him do so while glaring into his soul. But all Albert saw was Finch’s shoes enter his field of vision and felt a light hand fall on his waist to tug him closer.

“Alright. Consider me booked."

Albert audibly let out the shaky sigh that he’d been holding in, instantly exposing the rattled nerves he was trying to hide, but Finch simply chuckled warmly, finding that endearing.

“So, when do we start?” Finch asked smoothly, slowly, sliding to his knees to give Albert’s stomach a light kiss through his shirt, “Is right now an option?”

Albert let his eyes fall closed for a moment as Finch ran both of his hands down his thighs before he finally caught himself, “Oh no ya don’t. I told ya before: it’s _my_ turn to give.”

Finally, Finch gave him that infuriating grin (which Albert was finding less infuriating and more arousing by the moment) as if he remembered Albert saying that perfectly well and was trying to get away with something. However, having been caught, he simply rose to his feet and Albert made quick work of switching their positions so Finch’s back was to the kitchen wall and Albert’s knees were on the tile.

Before any of this started, Albert had traded with Finch two or three times before, hence how he figured out through his inevitable teasing that he only wanted to see him when he was desperate. So, he wasn’t a complete stranger to giving Finch head, but this time felt different. This time he wanted to.

He unfastened Finch’s breaches who then slid his suspenders off of his shoulders so Albert could get them down a bit.

“Go nice and slow. I’ll tell you what I like.”

And where Albert would have previously said ‘fuck you, you’ll get what I give ya,’ he now nodded a little hungrily.

The weight of Finch on his tongue was delectable and Albert did his best not to proceed too quickly to satiate his own desires. Admittedly, he probably wasn’t the best in the house, but he ranked pretty decently. He didn’t know all Finch’s or Race’s little tricks but he wasn’t as clueless as Mush or Romeo. And Finch had promised instruction, anyway.

With good effort, he took as much of Finch down as he could and used his hand for the rest. Finch exhaled then swallowed thickly, which Albert was proud to hear.

“Can I take your hat off? I wanna see your pretty red hair.”

Albert hummed his approval and Finch did away with the Gatsby hat, replacing it with his own fingers and threading them through Albert’s flaming locks.

At one point, Albert had picked up too much speed and Finch whispering the breathless reminder of, “ _Slowly_ , sweetheart,” made all the heat pool downward between Albert’s legs and there was no denying that he was getting off on this as well. But Finch didn’t need to know he had that kind of power just yet so Albert refrained from touching himself to remain inconspicuous.

“Show me your eyes,” Finch instructed a few moments later, voice noticeably a little more raspy. Albert obeyed only to have Finch pet his hair in the most loving way and Albert instantly began to understand why Finch liked giving so much—you could watch your partner come apart at your mercy and all you wanted to do was keep their breath sounding like that.

Eventually, Albert was allowed to increase his pace but just when he was ready to guzzle all Finch could give him he received his orders.

“Pull off. I want to finish myself. Open your mouth and don’t swallow.”

And so he did, sitting back on his knees, mouth open as he watched Finch give himself rapid little tugs until he flooded Albert’s tongue seconds later with hiss and a choked off groan.

Before Albert had much time to react, Finch flashed one more devious grin at him before immediately sinking to his knees, cupping his face between his hands, and pressing his lips to Albert’s in a kiss that encouraged him to pass the liquid between them.

Now allowed to be self-indulgent, Albert pressed forward, crushing into the kiss a little deeper, pinning Finch against that ugly-wallpapered surface. He licked into him and Finch gave back just as much as he received. Albert grabbed him closer by the vest and cupped a hand to the back of his neck as they kissed and swallowed and _fuck—_

Albert felt the shock of his own orgasm jolt through him like electricity and he made a sobbing noise into Finch’s mouth as he humped the air for a split second then felt the hot wetness in trousers.

When they finally broke they were both utterly panting on the kitchen floor. Finch smiled, bright and beautiful, as he pressed their foreheads together, thumbing Albert’s cheek as they both collected themselves. _Jesus_ , Albert thought, half the house just spits it out.

“Good boy. You did so well,” Finch praised him amiably, “Are you ready to feel good now?”

“I…” Albert started sheepishly before looking down between them. When Finch realized, he just kissed the corner of his mouth like it was nothing to be embarrassed about.

“It’s okay,” another kiss and an even quieter whisper, “It’s okay. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, too. It’ll be your turn next time.”

“No more scoreboarding,” Albert panted quietly, eyes still closed as he leaned against Finch’s forehead, exhausted in the best type of way, “No more credit system.”

Finch hummed in acknowledgement before peppering light kisses over Albert’s entire face. His cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. It felt nice to be held afterwards, Albert decided. No one else had ever done that for him.

“Are you sure you want me for a month? I’m told I’m _frustrating_ ,” Finch teased Albert with his own words, make him shiver.

“I’m sure.”

“Fuck, Albert, you’re so perfect. I’m gonna run you ragged.”

And the absolute satisfaction Albert felt from this one night alone was enough to reaffirm his decision. His heart fluttered to think of all the time he would have with Finch just to himself. Which, now, was all he wanted.

“You better.”

 

 


	5. A Night Alone

 

 

So, miraculously, it turned out that Finch was much less frustrating than Albert had originally thought.

Either that or Albert was beginning to crave Finch’s slower but much more thorough style. Savoring things lead to a much more satisfying outcome--instead of just trying to scratch an itch, they were truly enjoying the company and both wanted to draw out their moments together for as long as possible.

Finch made a particular effort to get everything he could out of Albert and the redhead was far from complaining. Even after an exhausting day Finch would seek Albert out, reminding him through a playful grin, “ _You’re_ the one who didn’t want me to see other newsies, so now you can’t afford to be tired.”

And Albert would grin back at him, growling fiery and low, “Who’s tired? Tell me what you want. You ain’t even gotta beg.”

Finch wanted a lot, and Albert rose to the challenge. Finch taught him how to use his tongue, how to steady his pace and calm the back of his throat. He also returned just as much as he asked for and Albert could confidently say that he’d never been spent so many consecutive days and it was becoming addicting, something he looked forward to after all the papes had been sold.

Naturally, a few newsies had asked Albert to trade deals throughout the month but not enough where “I already have someone tonight” was heard enough to warrant any questions. The only one smart enough to catch on was Specs and all he had to say about it was, “Finch, huh? You two look good together,” and Albert didn’t know why, but that comment gave him butterflies and sunshine for the rest of the day.

One night, now that they were becoming closer, Albert had asked why Finch liked him so much and Finch looked like he already knew his answer but thought better of actually saying it. “Redheads turn me on,” Finch lied vaguely, chewing on a cigar that wasn’t his. Albert snorted a laugh and punched his arm, “Tell me the truth.” Finch smiled to himself and twirled the cigar, “Nah, you gotta book me for more than a month for those kinda answers.”

Another night Finch had asked if, in lieu of anything physical, they could simply share a bunk. Newsies doubled up all the time so no one would assume anything, but it was a particular kind of thrill to hold Finch close under the covers, praying that the sound of their lips breaking wetly was too quiet for the other sleeping newsies to hear.

And the last night of the month, Jack invited all of the newsies out to celebrate. With the strike won and Jack’s new illustration job paying immensely, he invited all of the newsies out for drinks. Albert was just about to go when Finch placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured into his ear, “Stay? I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

“Better than free drinks?”

“I swear it. Stay.”

And Albert had no reason not to believe him so, with the house completely empty, Albert followed Finch into the bunkroom.

“Huh,” Albert mused at the silence, “This room is never empty. You want to miss out on drinks for a seat on a mattress? The kitchen is fine, you know.”

“I’m missing out on drinks because _you_ might be loud.”

Before Albert could question him, Finch’s lips were pressed to his and _that_ , Albert would admit, was more delicious than any whiskey. When they broke, Finch remained close, eyes shut, breath a little shaky.

“This is the last day of the month.”

Albert’s heart sped tenfold. With all the chaos of the Children’s Crusade, he’d admittedly lost track of the days. Suddenly, things seemed a bit more desperate when everything that had been a source of comfort for him during those trying times was about to come to an end. Albert opened his mouth to speak but Finch continued,

“I don’t want to talk about what that means for us right now, but we’ve got the house to ourselves and I was wondering if you’d let me try something new.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Albert gasped a quiet _holy shit_ before Finch swallowed the rest of his voice into a kiss.

“Would that be okay?”

“Jesus, Finch, fuck, yeah, are you sure?” Albert asked, tripping over his words while he tried to process everything. Finch just nodded and crushed his stammering into more kisses, leading them blindly to a neatly made bed, and kissed Albert down with enough gentle force to lie him flat on the mattress.

Albert watched, trembling as Finch undressed before him, completely. He’d never actually seen Finch entirely naked before. In a penthouse full of other newsies who could walk in on you at any minute, clothing was always pushed down just enough so it could be pulled up for a quick getaway.

But, goddamnit, Finch was beautiful all exposed like that--tall and lean with just enough muscle and almost instantly Albert became hard without even being touched. In awe, he shimmied his own trousers down on the bed.

Without any embarrassment and just a bit of lidded-eyed lust, Finch joined Albert on the mattress by placing one leg on either side of his hips, straddling them. Albert swallowed thickly.

“You ever done this before?” Finch asked casually, as if he were asking about fixing a sink.

“A-a few girls. Not with a guy, though. I mean, Racetrack wanted to try but I, uh, panicked and we stopped.” Albert said, words falling from him automatically like he was at a confessional and Finch was his religion.

“Are you panicking now?”

“No. Have you done this before?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Finch said teasingly and Albert might have punched his arm or something if he wasn’t absolutely entranced by the way Finch was working some kind of slick oil onto his backside with his fingers.

“How come you get to be the one ta…I would think you’d wanna fuck me.”

“I do, sweetheart. I’d love ta see you get all outta sorts when I open you up.”

“Fu—“ Albert choked when Finch delicately traded his fingers for the head of Albert’s swollen erection, sitting very carefully and slowly.

“But you like instant gratification. This way involves a little pain before you can get to the pleasure and I honestly don’t know if you have the patience for it. Hell, you get fussy when I’m slow with my mouth.”

“I’ve been better about that— _Fuck_ , Finch, God—I like the way you do it now. I like going slow, it’s nice.”

Finch was concentrating too hard to reply to that and Albert adored the way Finch’s brow furrowed just slightly, the way he was breathing through his mouth and how his lips were red and wet. He especially loved the way he was using Albert’s chest to prop himself up as he distributed his weight correctly.

Finch paused now and again to adjust and Albert couldn’t help but reach out to lightly grab his hips, thumbing them softly as if to say _take your time_.

Eventually, Finch took a deep breath and sat the rest of the way down and in that very moment Albert knew he had _absolutely_ made the right decision to stay in for the night.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Finch you feel so good. And you look so good, too, all stripped down like that. God, I never thought, I just, I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I should stop talking. I’m talking too much.”

“Just relax.”

“O-ok,” Albert said, calming himself with a deep breath, “Are you hurting?”

“The worst is over. Now, _your_ job in all this is to kiss me out of my mind while I ride you into the fucking springs.”

Albert would never admit that he whimpered when Finch bent low over him and began to work his hips, but the fact of the matter was he was mewling all sorts of whines and moans in between their kisses. Albert embraced Finch around his shoulders, keeping his mouth busy, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and panting helplessly in between.

It was better than any of the girls he’d been with, tighter and more controlled. Albert had always been the one to bed his ladies but it was an entirely different experience to relinquish that control, to be held down by the weight of someone who knew what they were doing.

The bed they were on, like all the newsie sleeping arrangements, was a bunk bed, and albert had never in his life experienced anything more beautiful than watching Finch sit upright and grab a hold of the wired underside of the bed above them.

Using the top bunk for stability, Finch rolled his whole body onto Albert’s, grinding down on him so Al could see the whole show—Finch’s stomach muscles working with his efforts, a thin sheen of sweat over his entire form, the way Finch closed his eyes and was clearly losing himself to his own pleasure.

With one hand pressing fingerprints into Finch’s hip, Albert reached out the other to take Finch’s cock, tugging it at just the right rhythm to earn him a grateful cuss.

“O-oh shit I’m _close_ \--can I cum inside you?” Albert asked a bit awkwardly, but these were uncharted waters and he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

But Finch didn’t even open his eyes, just tilted his head back and mouthed almost inaudibly, “You fucking better.”

Seconds later Finch sped his pace to a finalizing quickness and Albert lost the air from his lungs, devastated by the force of his own orgasm, and used the hand that was previously holding Finch’s hip to ruck his own shirt up so Finch could finish on his chest.

And Heaven had some fearsome competition if it thought it could compare to that sensation.

When they were both done trembling through it, Albert sat up just enough to grab Finch around the waist, dragging him forward and making him release the bedsprings above. He had never wanted someone so badly and ate those kisses like he was starving. Finch let him satiate his fervency until the gentleness of Finch petting Albert’s hair calmed him down enough so that his kisses matched that pace.

They broke slowly and Finch just smiled, absolutely exhausted by clearly satisfied, “Good?”

“So good,” Albert agreed, momentarily blissed out before the worries he’d put on a shelf began to creep back in, “Smart of you to save this for the last day of the month.”

Finch hummed his acknowledgement and gingerly separated himself from Albert, “Something to remember me by,” he shrugged.

Albert watched Finch get off the bed and dress next to him, heart pounding with a feeling that made his whole body ache, like he never wanted Finch to leave his side and he could watch him redressing like this forever, all ruffled and gorgeous. Instead of voicing that, Albert merely lifted his hips to pull his own pants up.

“Just because our deal is over doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other,” Albert offered weakly, voice thin and vulnerable.

“During this month Jo Jo asked to trade with me so often that he got suspicious when I told him I always had a partner. You said it was okay to tell people, so I told him about our arrangement.”

Albert huffed, a little bit of wicked excitement rising in him at the thought of Jo Jo being turned down for _him_ and not the other way around this time, “What’d he have to say to that?”

“He wants to book me for a month now.”

Albert’s stomach dropped cold.

“You…ain’t gotta say yes.”

“And you ain’t gotta let me go.”

Finch had finished dressing and stood before Albert, expression unreadable—it was something like adoring but much more worn and Albert suddenly felt guilty for making Finch feel anything but happy to be with him.

But before he could respond, the bunkroom was once again flooded with (now very drunk) newsies who needed the space to sleep.

 

 


	6. Limits

 

 

Albert said nothing the next day. And by then, he figured, he’d missed his chance.

His eyes met Finch’s briefly at breakfast, whose stare was as intense and awaiting as he had ever seen it. If anything, Albert was the one who meekly lowered his gaze and, naturally, Finch took that as his answer.

When Albert noted Finch and Jo Jo as absent during communal house gatherings he couldn’t even be upset. Well, logically upset. It still hurt. And eventually, after a week, it hurt enough where he’d locked himself in the house bathroom, experimenting with how it felt to have some fingers inside of him.

He’d never done this sort of thing before, never wanted to before now. But as he braced himself against a wall, he pistoned them far enough in where he could tell it might be good in proper hands. He bit his lip and wondered if Finch did this for Jo Jo, or might have done it for him, if he’d hung around long enough to ask.

Albert pictured Finch pressed to his back, easing himself inward, and let out a dry sob at just how pathetic he was being, so he stopped there.

Not a lot made sense after that. There was no one in the house he really wanted to be with instead, or out of the house for that matter, but he couldn’t quite figure out why he just hadn’t said _stay with me._

It wasn’t quite a fear of commitment, nor was it because he was uncertain of his own feelings (he finally got some clarity regarding that, at least) so all he could do now was picture Finch being tender with literally anyone else and grow bitter and sick.

Still, a week alone was about all he could bear after having it so good for a month straight so Albert figured he needed to either find someone else to play with or swallow his pride. And knowing no one in the house was going to satisfy him in the ways he was used to, swallowing his pride was becoming quite appealing.

Seven or eight days seemed like the polite amount of time to wait and then he figured he’d better place his spot in line once again.

Just before bed, Albert caught Finch in the hallway, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Finch stayed, of course, but the way he looked at Albert so tiredly made the gesture seem less familiar then Albert thought it would be.

“Hey, so, uh, I’ll just get right to it,” Albert swallowed, “I want ta see you as soon as you’re done with Jo Jo this month.”

Finch sighed.

“I didn’t book Jo Jo.”

Albert paused, sincerely taken aback, “Why not?”

“Because I’m not in love with him.”

Time stopped for a moment and Albert forgot how to breathe. As confessions went, this one was incredibly outright and far too sacred to just be casually murmured in a cramped hallway. Albert wished he could have heard it hushed properly into his ear, or gasped between a kiss, but instead Finch looked like the words were no longer as valuable to him as they were to Albert.

When time started again Albert’s heart sped to make up for the pause and he ungracefully offered, “Well…if…that means you’re free tonight—“

“I’m sorry, Albert, I can’t keep doing this.”

Albert’s mouth fell open to speak, but he couldn’t.

He swallowed hard and tried again, but still nothing.

For the past three months, Finch had been nothing but a constant source of comfort for him. Physically and mentally--reassuring Albert that he was worth his time, worth slowing down for, worth lying next to in bed and thumbing his hip softly in a twilight hour to let him know he was still there.

Letting Albert know that he was _wanted_.

And now, it seemed, Albert had taken too much, accepted too greedily, without realizing that people had limits.

“What…do you mean? Ya don’t wants to see me again? Ever?”

Finch removed his hat to run a hand through his hair. He wasn’t looking at Albert anymore but off into space, lost in a thought that was taking him lightyears away from Albert and widening the gap between them with a river of stars.

“I thought spending a month with me would change your mind but...I can't keep fooling myself into thinking you'll love me back.”

And when Finch placed that hat back on his head, he was in a place Albert couldn’t reach him even if he swam for miles or ran for days.

Albert’s voice was gone so Finch filled the dead air, “I'm sorry…I thought I could take my heart out of it and just enjoy our time for what it was but…I got in too deep and ruined a good thing. It's doing me more harm than good to have you so close and yet not have you at all.”

The gentle but forced smile did nothing to help either of them but Finch, god bless him, made the effort anyway.

“You're going to find someone who loves you _so much_ , Al,” Finch breathed, and Albert had never in his life heard Finch speak in such a tearful, quavering tone. The words visibly hurt him to say but there was no bitterness there, only the affection he had confessed earlier, “…and the best part is: you'll love them, too.”

Finch pressed a soft kiss to Albert’s cheek, which Albert was too stunned to even feel, and was suddenly alone in more ways than one when Finch retired to the bunkroom.

Albert sank to the floor only for a moment until he knew the sound of his sniffling was bound to wake another newsie so he headed down the hall to spend the night on the couch.

 

  


	7. Confessions

 

 

6 AM the morning bell rung like always, but Albert couldn’t care less about papes.

He never did have good timing but, when he’d already missed his chance multiple times, there wasn’t much left to do but pick himself up off the floor and give it one last, desperate try.

He watched from the living room as Jack filed out, then Crutchie, then Henry (the earliest risers), then swam up the stream of sleepyhead newsies filing down the hall to start their day to find a half-awake Finch last in line.

Grabbing him by the vest, Albert pulled him into the empty bunkroom, closed the door with his foot and clung to him, shaking, with his back pressed against the wood.

“You really think I’m not in love with you?”

Ridgely yanking Finch forward for a kiss that revealed just how fraught he was, Albert chided himself for breaking into tears before he could confess anything else coherently. At the very least he owed Finch an explanation, at the very most an apology, and yet here he was, still asking more of him.

Finch seemed to be startled awake by the kiss and sank down to the floor under the weight of a wilting Albert, half holding him up by the arms so neither one of them fell too sharply.

For once, Finch didn’t have anything clever to say and simply held Albert’s dripping face between his hands, patiently thumbing away tears, crouched small and huddled close.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t, I couldn’t--“ Albert tried, preemptively, gasping and choking on his own words.

“Shhhh, calm down a bit more yet,” Finch advised, patiently, smoothing the hair off of Albert’s forehead.

Albert sobbed for a few more seconds before the adrenaline subsided a bit and he felt the shaking stop. Finch removed his hands and sat before him on the floor, offering a handkerchief which Albert used to dry his dripping nose.

No turning back.

“I wanted to tell you sooner. I didn’t because I couldn’t admit to why I wouldn’t let myself be with you, but you deserves ta know, now.”

Albert’s chest felt tight from the sobbing and it almost hurt to breathe, but if there was anyone worth enduring that pain for, it was the boy sitting before him.

“You make me feel like I’m worth something, Finch…even when I knows I’m not. Could never figure why you’d fall for me, why anyone would…” Albert sniffled, voice watery, red-rimmed eyes avoiding Finch’s gaze,“…And I knew if we was exclusive, you’d realize that real fast. I’m nothin’ special and I was always bound to let you down if I became yours, but I guess I let you down anyway, huh?”

There was no way of knowing Finch’s reaction without lifting his eyes but Albert was scared that if he stole a glance the rest of his words would be suffocated.

With great strength he pressed on, “I’m sorry you fell for someone like me. I’m sorry I put you through all this. You deserve so much better, like a high class lady, or Jo Jo who fucking treats you right,” Albert scrubbed at yet another tear that escaped him, feeling very much like he would like to die or maybe sleep for ten years, “…But for what it’s worth, the idiot you fell for loves you back. I really do.”

And finally feeling like he’d laid his soul absolutely bare, Albert pulled his knees up to his chest, crossed his arms over them, and lowered forehead to them with a resigned sigh.

It wasn’t until Finch gently took one of his hands in his own, unfolding his arm from its defensive crossed position, and brought it close to his lips to kiss the back of his hand that Albert looked up again.

“When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you,” Finch said, smiling in a way that Albert hadn’t seen him do in a long time--fragile, but genuinely, truly, happy, “You don’t ever have to worry about being good enough for me. Just be for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Half way through their next kiss Albert let out an airy half-sob, half-laugh of relief and felt Finch’s mouth stretch into a smile against his.

Finch kissed him calm until Albert suddenly remembered, “Shit, I made you late for the day. The World closes their gates in fifteen.”

“How are you on money? Can you afford a day off?” Finch questioned.

“Yeah, I have enough this week.”

“Because it seems to me,” Finch said, interrupting his own statement with another kiss, “that we are once again in an empty bedroom.”

Albert smiled, genuinely now as well, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

Finch continued on, lazily sucking kisses into Albert’s neck, “You wanna work the rest of those nerves outta ya by fucking me into the sheets?”

The laugh that bubbled up from Albert’s chest filled him with a giddy warmth, “You know, ten minutes ago I thought the most likely outcome of this was you punching me but…this is better.”

“You feeling okay now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, better than I’ve felt in a long time,” and he honestly meant that.

“Good. We don't hafta fool around if you don't wants, we can just spend our day off slingshotting marbles at Snyder from the rooftops.”

“I was wondering…could we do it…the other way ‘round?”

Finch moved up from the crook of his neck to kiss Albert’s jaw, then temple, “That takes a little bit of preparation, baby, I don’t know if you’re ready.”

“I’ve been…fingering myself…here and there.”

“Wish I coulda seen that. Bet you looked beautiful,” Finch whispered and Albert liked that he could actually hear the turn on in his voice, “But still, I’d wanna stretch you properly. It takes a lot of time to adjust—“

“Too bad we only have the bedroom to ourselves for eight hours,” Albert jested with an inviting smile, “Now who’s the impatient one? I’ve certainly got the time.”

Finch chuckled warmly at being outsmarted as if he kind of adored it. After all this time, it appeared Albert had gained an appreciation for the art of taking things slowly.

“You never stop surprising me. Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you ready.”

 

 


End file.
